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Authors: Malcolm Mackay
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doesn’t need to know that Arnie’s worried about the boy. Hanging around with halfwits like Alex Glass. Half-witted friends are no big deal. Where they lead you can become a big deal. As soon as Arnie heard mention of Marty Jones, he knew he had to do something. So here he is, doing something. Finding an alternative. Not a big leap up from Marty, but better. If Oliver insists on working for someone that isn’t above board, it might as well be someone reliable. Someone who isn’t going to end up inside, with Oliver in the next cell. Marty is a disaster waiting to happen.
‘So he’s looking for work. What’s he done?’
This is where it starts to get awkward. Having to admit that Oliver’s in no way the best person for the job. Times like this, so many people looking for work, Roy could have his pick. ‘Not a lot so far. Like I said, he’s a kid. But he’s a smart kid. A good judge of a situation. Sharp, you know. Clean record. I know I’m his grandfather so you’d expect me to say this, but he’s a kid who’s worth a chance.’
Arnie’s opinion was always solid, but that’s not worth anything now. Arnie doesn’t know the business now. And he can’t be a proper judge of his own grandchild.
‘Does the kid know you’re here?’ Roy’s asking.
‘No, he doesn’t.’
‘So how do you know that he wants to work for me?’
‘He’s desperate to make a start,’ Arnie’s saying. Thinking of him, hanging around people like Marty Jones. Sure, Arnie hasn’t been around the business much these last twenty years. Doesn’t mean he doesn’t know about Marty and his kind. A fucking pimp. That’s not the worst of it. A bloody debt collector too. Preying on the weak and vulnerable. Snaring them in a money trap and bleeding them dry. Ruining their lives. Anything is better than that. ‘The boy will be thrilled with a job with you, Roy, I know it. He’ll take the chance if you give him it. He’s a good long-term option.’ Throwing in the reference to long-term, because he knows Roy will like that.
Roy’s pausing, thinking about it. His is a small operation, always has been. There are some who try to go industrial, but that doesn’t work in a marketplace this size. You work in a city with just over a million people in it. That means the number of people who would ever buy from a man like Roy is relatively small. They want something cosy, trustworthy, long-lasting. Industrial doesn’t reassure them. Only way you can sustain industrial is to be national, and Roy’s never wanted that. He’ll stick to his territory. Besides, you go industrial, and you get noticed fast. So he’s always stayed small and that’s always worked for him. One or two people helping him at any one time. No more than that. Right now, only one employee. Could do with a second.
‘You know how it works, Arnie. I can’t promise him regular work. Little stuff, now and again. I’ll pay reasonable, I always do. Tell him to come round and see me tomorrow. I’ll talk to him then. If that goes well, if I think he’s up to it, I’ll have something for him. Nothing regular to start, but we’ll see.’
‘Thanks, Roy. I do appreciate this.’
‘You were lucky with your timing. I’ve only had one fellow helping for the last couple of months. I don’t like using him as much as I do. I’d rather split the workload, safer that way. Draws less attention to each one. Still, I’m not guaranteeing anything until I’ve spoken to him.’
Arnie’s out of the house. Walking down the street, wishing he had enough money for a car. His poverty embarrasses him. He’s always been a grafter, but he’s had health problems. Lack of circulation in the legs making them painful and bloated. Angina. Damaged lungs too, apparently, you can throw that one onto the list. Lifestyle. That’s what the doctor said. Hard living, Mr Peterkinney, he said smugly. Bastard. He was right, but still a bastard.
Sixty-three years old and what does he have for all
‘So he’s looking for work. What’s he done?’
This is where it starts to get awkward. Having to admit that Oliver’s in no way the best person for the job. Times like this, so many people looking for work, Roy could have his pick. ‘Not a lot so far. Like I said, he’s a kid. But he’s a smart kid. A good judge of a situation. Sharp, you know. Clean record. I know I’m his grandfather so you’d expect me to say this, but he’s a kid who’s worth a chance.’
Arnie’s opinion was always solid, but that’s not worth anything now. Arnie doesn’t know the business now. And he can’t be a proper judge of his own grandchild.
‘Does the kid know you’re here?’ Roy’s asking.
‘No, he doesn’t.’
‘So how do you know that he wants to work for me?’
‘He’s desperate to make a start,’ Arnie’s saying. Thinking of him, hanging around people like Marty Jones. Sure, Arnie hasn’t been around the business much these last twenty years. Doesn’t mean he doesn’t know about Marty and his kind. A fucking pimp. That’s not the worst of it. A bloody debt collector too. Preying on the weak and vulnerable. Snaring them in a money trap and bleeding them dry. Ruining their lives. Anything is better than that. ‘The boy will be thrilled with a job with you, Roy, I know it. He’ll take the chance if you give him it. He’s a good long-term option.’ Throwing in the reference to long-term, because he knows Roy will like that.
Roy’s pausing, thinking about it. His is a small operation, always has been. There are some who try to go industrial, but that doesn’t work in a marketplace this size. You work in a city with just over a million people in it. That means the number of people who would ever buy from a man like Roy is relatively small. They want something cosy, trustworthy, long-lasting. Industrial doesn’t reassure them. Only way you can sustain industrial is to be national, and Roy’s never wanted that. He’ll stick to his territory. Besides, you go industrial, and you get noticed fast. So he’s always stayed small and that’s always worked for him. One or two people helping him at any one time. No more than that. Right now, only one employee. Could do with a second.
‘You know how it works, Arnie. I can’t promise him regular work. Little stuff, now and again. I’ll pay reasonable, I always do. Tell him to come round and see me tomorrow. I’ll talk to him then. If that goes well, if I think he’s up to it, I’ll have something for him. Nothing regular to start, but we’ll see.’
‘Thanks, Roy. I do appreciate this.’
‘You were lucky with your timing. I’ve only had one fellow helping for the last couple of months. I don’t like using him as much as I do. I’d rather split the workload, safer that way. Draws less attention to each one. Still, I’m not guaranteeing anything until I’ve spoken to him.’
Arnie’s out of the house. Walking down the street, wishing he had enough money for a car. His poverty embarrasses him. He’s always been a grafter, but he’s had health problems. Lack of circulation in the legs making them painful and bloated. Angina. Damaged lungs too, apparently, you can throw that one onto the list. Lifestyle. That’s what the doctor said. Hard living, Mr Peterkinney, he said smugly. Bastard. He was right, but still a bastard.
Sixty-three years old and what does he have for all
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